Mine
by jellymankelly
Summary: AU "I reach for another dish on the table when probably the cutest little chuckle I have ever heard floats up from behind me. Even sitting a couple tables away, I can see you're probably the most incredibly beautiful girl I think I've ever seen."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Mine  
**Pairing:** Brittany Pierce/Santana Lopez (Glee)

**Rating: **T for coarse language, and sexual themes. Rating subject to change at author's discretion.

**Summary:** "I reach for another dish on the table when probably the cutest little chuckle I have ever heard floats up from behind me. Even sitting a couple tables away, I can see you're probably the most incredibly beautiful girl I think I've ever seen."

**Disclaimer:** Glee and all related characters are owned by Fox Networks. No profit has been made through the publishing of this work of fiction; it was created for entertainment purposes only. Song lyrics belong to Taylor Swift and the Big Machine record label.

* * *

_You were in college working part time waitin' tables_

_Left a small town, never looked back_

_I was a flight risk with a fear of fallin'_

_Wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts_

* * *

"Pierce! Y'ain't gettin' paid t'paint yer nails and stare at boys! Getcher butt inta gear and bus them tables, girl! Git a move on!"

The snarled command comes from somewhere near the hot mess that is the kitchen at Breadstix. Rick, the head chef, isn't exactly big on girls as a rule. At least not as employees. I wasn't actually doing either of those things, technically. In between cleaning tables I like to watch the guests and make up stories about them as they enjoy their meals (or don't enjoy them - food quality is kinda luck of the draw here). The bit about my nails was probably because I have a bad habit of picking at my cuticles when I'm bored. And I get bored a lot at this job. Seriously. My nail beds are completely shredded, like, _all the time._ I keep my nails pretty short so I'm not tempted to chew on them too - not that it helps.

"_Now_, Pierce!"

I jump a little because Rick's voice is suddenly a lot closer than it was a minute ago. He's standing at the entryway to the kitchen, hands full of squirming lobster, glaring at me. I grab one of the grody black tubs and set it on my hip. The dishes thunk heavily into the basin as I drop them in, some splattering leftover bits of sauce on my clothes and my bare arm. It doesn't really bother me anymore, though it definitely did when I first started here seven months ago.

I used to try to carefully set each dish in so that no mess would happen, but that took forever and then Rick would yell at me for _dilly-dallying_, whatever that means. I'd never heard that word before working here, but I bet it sounds super cute when someone other than Rick is saying it. Everything Rick says just sounds angry and mean. I think it's because of his hair. I'd be mad too if my hair only grew long in the back. It looks so weird, all short on top and long down his neck. I told him once that he should think about just keeping the back short since the top obviously isn't growing any longer, but he just started yelling about parties and business and bullets or something. What his hair has to do with business at Breadstix, I have no idea.

After that I just started throwing the dishes in and soon I stopped even noticing the splatters until I got home and had to scrub my left arm more than my right because it'd be covered in little red or white splotches. Sometimes when I'm not too tired I'll try and make a game out if it and guess what splotch comes from what dish, but since the only two sauces at Breadstix are marinara or alfredo, it's usually a pretty short game. One time I found a blue splotch and that kind of freaked me out for awhile because I'm pretty sure that there are exactly zero dishes with blue sauce, but then I remembered that I'd gotten a blue slushie before coming into work that day. I still can't figure out how I managed to get the slushie on my _arm_ though.

One of the dishes makes a really loud clatter as I toss it in and it snaps me from my thoughts. Tina, one of the waitresses, narrows her eyes at me and I shrug an apology. At least, I think she's narrowing her eyes. It's hard to tell since she's Asian. They're all plastic anyways, so it's not like I could have broken them. It was one of the reasons I took the stupid job in the first place - as long as I'm not ever the one taking orders or delivering food, it's easy enough for me to avoid messing up. Which, honestly, was reason enough on its own to, considering that's all anyone seems to think I do.

I always volunteer for the mindless jobs at Breadstix. Busing tables, seating guests, washing dishes, anything that doesn't require me to pay attention or talk to people and I'm just fine. I know if I tried to do something like take orders I'd mess them up. It's just too hard for me to pay attention to what people are saying _and _write down their orders _and_ remember the order that those orders are supposed to go in. I dunno how Tina and Quinn do it.

"Brittany! Watch out!"

I spin around just in time to catch the tray as it slides out of Quinn's hands. The glasses all jostle a little, but hardly anything spills, so I hand it back to her with a big grin. She just rolls her eyes.

"Yes, yes, you have cat-like reflexes, very nice. If your head wasn't up in the clouds all the time, things like this wouldn't happen and you wouldn't _have_ to have fast reflexes."

I blink slowly at her. "Quinn, I'm pretty sure I'm stuck with these reflexes whether you drop a tray or not. Like, it's Genesis or something."

"Genetics," she snaps shortly. "And fine, but if you would just _pay attention,_ you wouldn't have to use them here. I didn't just drop the tray spontaneously, you know." She glares at me accusingly.

"Well then why'd you do it?"

She huffs and blows some of her bangs out of her face. "I didn't do it on purpose, _Brittany_. And it happened because you were dancing in the aisle. _Again._ I swear, sometimes I think you must have ADD or something. I've never seen you focus on just one thing for more than a moment at a time. It's a wonder you can make it through your classes."

I blink again and stare back at her. She's probably right about the ADD, but my parents didn't believe in that kind of stuff and never had me tested, so I couldn't say for sure. Still, I kinda hate it when she says things like that. It makes me feel guilty, like I did it on purpose or something. Or like maybe I'm broken or something. I get through my classes in school just fine. Okay, so maybe most of them are dance classes, but still. It's not like I don't have to take some regular courses too, even at Juilliard. So I make my face really still in that way that always confuses her and ask in my most serious voice, "Quinn, what does math have to do with busing tables?"

She stares at me in shock for a few seconds, then rolls her eyes and stomps past me, grumbling under her breath. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm an idiot because she can never tell when I'm joking, but at least it gets her to leave me alone.

I reach for another dish on the table when probably the cutest little chuckle I have ever heard floats up from behind me. My head whips around, searching for the source of the noise, when I spot you.

Even sitting a couple tables away, I can see you're probably the most incredibly beautiful girl I think I've ever seen. Even more beautiful than Quinn, who is so pretty I'm almost completely positive she has her own American Girl doll modeled after her. But you...You're something completely different.

I think I notice your mouth first because of your laughter, but I keep looking at it because of your lips. They're _so_ round and soft looking, and your teeth are pearly white against their redness. And you have dimples. Oh wow. Your hair is long and inky black, and it looks so thick my fingers twitch a little with the sudden urge to run through it. Your skin is really tan, but I can tell it's naturally so, because it's just the tiniest bit rosy around your cheeks. Too cute. My own cheeks flush a little when I realize I'm staring, but then I notice that you're watching me too. I probably didn't see it at first because you're sort of looking up at me through your eyelashes, but yeah. You're definitely looking at me.

Then my cheeks burn even hotter because if you're looking at me then you're probably _laughing_ at me too. Oh God, what if you heard me and Quinn? I bet you think I'm a total idiot too. Great. Just great. I drop my eyes immediately and start fumbling with the tub still perched on my hip as I try to think of the least awkward way to get out of the situation.

"That was pure brilliance."

My eyes snap back up to meet yours. I'm not sure if you said that, but there isn't really anyone else around us right now, so it had to have been you. I frown a little, trying to figure out what you could be talking about.

"The way you handled that bitch just now? It was just masterful. Sheer genius." You're grinning even wider at me now, so that even your eyes are part of the smile.

I think my jaw pops from dropping so fast when it finally clicks that not only did you hear what I said to Quinn, but you actually _got it_. You _got _my joke_._ Hardly _anyone _understands my humor. I smile back nervously and mumble a quiet thank you.

Your smile gets smaller, but not in that way that means you're less happy. It's more like you noticed how anxious I am and you're deliberately softening to make me feel better. It makes me want to just sit down and start a conversation with you, and I almost do, but then I hear Rick shouting from the kitchen again.

"Pierce! Quit buggin' the customers and git back t'work! Them tables ain't gonna wipe themselves!"

I have to roll my eyes a little, especially since he can't see my face. Rick sounds like just about every guy I've ever known from my hometown. I don't know what it is about small towns, but it seems like they're all full of jerks with even worse English than mine. I'm about to offer an apology to you, but you're not looking at me anymore. You're glaring at Rick now, and your face is completely changed. Everywhere that was soft and smiling before is now hard and angry and cold. Even so, I can't help but think that maybe you're glaring at Rick for my sake, and the thought makes my stomach clench in the best way.

I don't want to make Rick any more annoyed than he already is tonight though, so I quickly shovel the rest of the dishes in my area into the bin and return them to the kitchen to be washed. I think for a minute about washing them right away like I'm supposed to, but I really want to see you again, if only to check and make sure that you really are as beautiful as I first thought. I mean, it's totally possible that I imagined that, right? Normal people just aren't that gorgeous.

I chew on one of my fingertips for a moment before deciding to go ahead and wipe down the tables now. It's almost closing time anyways, and Rick _did_ just tell me to wipe them, so...Boom. Lawyered.

I grab two of the cleanest rags I can find and soak one of them in the sink. I have to clench the rags to keep from doing a little victory fist pump when I see you're still at your table, sipping at a glass of water like you've got all the time in the world. I start at the far end of the restaurant and slowly work my way toward the front, and the booth you're sitting in.

I realize about halfway through my task that I haven't really thought this through beyond seeing you again, and I have no clue what to do next. Except to keep cleaning, of course. I don't want to seem like a creeper and just stare at you while I'm wiping and drying, so I keep my eyes down, only glancing up after every other table to sneak a peek at you. When you catch me looking, it makes me jerk in surprise so that the wet rag slips right off the edge of the table and I only _just_ stop myself from face planting into the scratched wooden surface. I can hear you chuckling from a few tables away and it makes my cheeks burn again. I'm such a spaz today. More so than usual, it feels like.

After that I keep my eyes on my hands and don't look at you at all anymore. I've had enough embarrassment for one day. I get so into my cleaning that I almost miss it when you finally speak up again.

"That's some Karate Kid level concentration you've got going on there."

Your voice is quiet and kinda low which is probably part of why I almost didn't catch your words, but when I look up you're _right there_, only a table away. How did I get so close so fast?

I think I must be staring again because you start to fidget a little, and it makes me smile. You're just so cute.

"Uhm, sorry. That was me being a lame movie nerd. Just forget I said anything."

The embarrassed tone of your voice snaps me out of my own thoughts and, after I take a second to recall what you said, my smile grows.

"No, Mr. Miyagi. I get it. I guess I'm just a little slow tonight." I meant it as a joke, but my voice gets really soft at the end and makes it sound a lot more serious than it should be. I try to laugh it off, but now you're looking at me with a little wrinkle between your eyebrows, like I just said something kind of sad or upsetting.

You reach your arm out across the table as if you want to touch me, even though you're at least ten feet away, and your eyes bore straight into mine.

"Don't say that. You're brilliant."

You sound so serious, and your eyes are so dark and intense, that it knocks me breathless for a minute. I think we've been staring at each other for too long, because you drop your eyes and start to fidget again, and it looks like your cheeks are getting even pinker under the tanness. My brain scrambles for something to distract you with, because you're clearly uncomfortable now. I say the first thing that pops into head.

"How do you know?"

Your gaze lifts to meet mine and you smile, smaller than before, but it still manages to catch in your eyes. It's sort of entrancing. Then your smile turns into a smirk.

"Anyone who can handle Little Miss Prim And Proper," you nod your head at Quinn, who is counting tips at the bar, "the way you did _has _to be brilliant. I mean, you barely said three sentences, and I thought her head was going to explode. It was pretty awesome to behold, honestly."

I should probably feel bad about irritating Quinn so much, but the way you're smiling at me like I'm the most interesting person you've met today is making my stomach do cartwheels. Plus, Quinn was rude first. Not that it really matters.

I wipe my right hand, which had been clutching the wet rag, on the leg of my pants, then offer it to you. "I'm Brittany."

You look down at my hand for a second, like maybe you aren't quite sure what it's there for. Your expression falls just the tiniest bit, and your eyes get this really guarded look in them, like you're trying to be really careful about something. Finally, just when I'm about to pull my hand back and mumble an apology, you take it in a soft grip and give it a gentle squeeze. The cartwheels in my belly turn into full layouts.

You quickly drops my hand and fix your face into that sly little smirk again.

"I can see that."

Your eyes drop slowly to my chest, and mine follow to see you're looking at my nametag. Oh. Duh. I can feel the tips of my ears start to get hot. Apparently my cheeks were getting tired, doing all that blushing on their own.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Brittany. I'm Santana."

"Santana," I repeat, letting the word roll around on my tongue. It's a strange name, but it fits you. It's a little exotic, even for New York. "That's super pretty."

You smile big enough to show your dimples again, but roll your eyes at the same time.

"Well, I can't really take credit for it, it was my parents' idea. But thank you."

I have to chuckle at that. I'd never really thought of it that way before, but you're totally right. Complimenting someone on their name is mostly just complimenting whoever named them. Unless they changed their name themselves, but I'm pretty sure you didn't, since you just gave your parents credit for it.

I don't want the conversation to end here, but I'm not sure what else to say to that, so again I just say the first thing that comes to me.

"So how come you're here alone? No boyfriend tonight?"

As soon as the words come out, my hand flies up to clap over my mouth. I can't believe I just said that. What if you just had a really bad break up? Or what if you think I'm being really rude? I'm about to apologize when you surprise me by answering.

"Ugh, no boyfriend _any_ night, thank you. No, I just needed to get out of my apartment for a while, and I love this place, so I thought I'd grab a little dinner." Your nose crinkles a little bit on the word 'any' and it's just about the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

"Oh, that's cool," I offer lamely. You shrug, like it doesn't really matter to you. You didn't seem annoyed or offended by my question, so I decide to press my luck a little. I can't help but be curious about the way you answered the boyfriend question.

"If it's okay to ask, what did you mean by that? The way you said 'no boyfriend any night'? Like, ever?"

You shift uncomfortably in the booth and immediately I regret saying anything. "You don't have to answer that. I'm being really nosy. I'm sorry."

You just look at me for a few seconds, dark eyes searching my face for...something. I dunno what.

"It's fine. I just, uhm...I mean, yeah, as in ever. I'm gay."

"Oh." I try to ignore the way my heart clenches a little at that. I try to tell myself to be cool about it. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you'll automatically be into me. Sadly.

"Oh?" You look nervous now, and I realize I haven't said anything else. I offer you a big smile and you seem to relax a little. Good.

"Me too. Well...sort of. I'm halfway there." Your eyebrow quirks up and it's _way_ sexier than a simple eyebrow should be. _Way _sexier. "Uh, I mean...I'm uh..." I've completely lost my train of thought. Oh right. The gay. "Bi!" You jump at my shout and and I cringe a little. That was definitely louder than it needed to be. "Sorry," I whisper. "I'm bi. So like...half gay, half straight, I guess? That's what I meant."

Oh God, I'm rambling. I'm _such_ a spaz today. Luckily you just nod and chuckle a little. Even so, I really need a subject change.

"So, if you're gay, how come your girlfriend isn't taking you out to dinner?"

Your smile falters again, and I start to wonder if I'm ever going to say anything to you that I won't immediately kick myself over afterwards.

"I don't have a girlfriend, actually. I don't...I don't really _do_ the whole dating-relationships thing. At all."

My stomach goes from doing layouts to sinking like a rock in seconds. Of course you wouldn't be interested in dating. A girl like you could probably get any woman she wanted, any time. Certainly someone better than a part-time dishwasher, anyways.

"I uhm..." Your stutter pulls me out of my little wallow of disappointment. You look really nervous again, so I just watch you curiously to see what you do. "I _do_ do the friend thing, though...if s-someone were...into that." You fiddle with the straw in your water and keep your eyes lowered so I can't catch your gaze. For some reason, it makes my stomach come back to life a little. Little tiny somersaults, barely even noticeable.

"I would like that," I say shyly. You look back up to me and the tiniest little smile curves your lips. But your eyes...your eyes take my breath away completely. They're so soft and warm and hopeful. It's wonderful and scary and magical all at once. "I would like to be your friend, if you wanted," I say again. Because I would. You're the most fascinating person in the whole world - I'm sure of it - and I'll take any chance I can to get to know you better.

You smile a little bigger and reach over to touch my fingers lightly for just a second, but it's enough to make my whole body tingle.

"I do want. I want very much for you to be my friend, Brittany."

"Good," I say with a grin I couldn't hide if I wanted to. "Then friends it is."


	2. Chapter 2

_I say "Can you believe it?"_

_As we're lying on the couch?_

_The moment I can see it._

_Yes, yes, I can see it now._

_Do you remember, we were sitting there by the water?_

_You put your arm around me for the first time._

_You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter._

_You are the best thing that's ever been mine.  
_

* * *

I tug a little on your hand to get you to keep up. You're dragging your feet a little; you have been this whole evening. I think maybe you're just still nervous, because whenever I catch your eye, you do that thing where your whole face goes from tight to just kind of...melty. It's the sweetest thing. Your eyes get that really gentle look, and the brown of them gets somehow lighter and darker at the same time. It's magic, I swear. And your lips, which you're usually chewing on (I wish you wouldn't - they're such nice lips), relax into that little bitty smile you get. It's the one you try to hide, but it always seems to peek out when you look at me. I think you hide it because you like to take extra special care to protect important things, and your happy feelings are important to you. I know you don't get to have them as much as you should, so it makes sense. They're important to me too, Santana, so don't worry. I'll protect them too.

Your hand is tiny in mine, and so warm. My hands are always cold, but you never seem to mind. I kinda like it, actually. It's like we keep each other balanced. You huff and jog a few steps to bring yourself next to me, and your fingers wiggle until they're sliding in between mine. It tickles the sensitive skin on the insides of my fingers, and makes my smile so big. I think I'm gonna have cheek cramps for a week after tonight, but I don't even care.

It took almost three months for me to finally convince you to go out on a date with me, even though I know you've liked me for at least that long. I know we said just friends that night I first met you at Breadstix, and I love being your friend (you're my _best _friend, did you know?), but I never was that good at listening. You're just too wonderful for me not to want to be with you more. I think maybe I'd like to be with you always, but I know right now isn't the right time to say so. It'll be my secret. For now.

When we get close to the bench, I'm relieved to see that my picnic basket is still tucked safely under it. I brought extra money for dinner in case it got stolen, but I would have been really disappointed, because I don't think I could have gotten another bouquet of carnations without you noticing.

I stop walking and you bump into my shoulder. You were staring at the lake, I think. It's all orange-y with the evening light reflecting off it like that. It took a little longer to get here than I thought it would, but the sun still has a little while before it starts to set. I'm hoping we finish dinner before it does, because sunsets are perfect for cuddling.

"Wha-hey, Britt? Why'd you stop?" Your fingers squeeze mine a little, and my stomach does a couple somersaults. Just little ones, but it still makes me smile. Everything about you makes me smile.

I turn to face you and grab your wrists so I can hold your hands over your eyes.

"Britt- What are you-"

"Shh, it's okay. Just stay here for a minute." I take a couple steps away, but have to turn back to tell you not to peek. I make a funny face at you to see if you laugh, but you just stand there with your palms pressed against your eyes. Good.

As quickly and quietly as I can, I grab the flannel blanky I left under the basket and throw it over the whole bench. Shoot, I forgot to bring one for our laps. Oh well. I'll just have to hold you if you get cold. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, that's totally the better option. I tuck my lips in my mouth to keep them from spreading into yet another grin, and glance at you reflexively, but your eyes are still covered. It's tough not to laugh, just a little, because you look so cute and tiny in your (really _short_) green and black striped dress and leather jacket, with your hands over your eyes. You shiver a little, and it shakes me from my staring.

Right. Date night. Focus, Brittany.

I pull the basket out next and set it in the middle of the bench. I'd rather not have anything between us, but I know I at least am going to need a flat surface to put my food and stuff down on or I _will _spill something. I've never seen you make a mess in all the time I've known you. You're what my mother would call finicky, the way everything you do is so precise. I think it's sweet.

Gently as possible, I pull the bouquet from the basket and hide it behind my back before walking back over to you. The plastic crackles in my hand just as I step up to you, and it makes you start a little.

"Brittany?"

Your voice is really quiet, and the nervousness is obviously back. I wish I knew why you're so scared all the time. I hope it's not because of me, because you don't need to be scared of me, Santana. I promise it. I touch your arm gently, and watch as you pull your hands away. Your lashes flutter a little, and I have to bite my lip to keep from kissing your eyelids. You're just so pretty.

I bring the flowers around from behind my back and offer them to you. Suddenly I feel really shy and I can't meet your eyes. It's silly, but you make me nervous too.

"_Brittany_..." The sound of my name whispered from your voice sends a tingle straight down my back. "Britt, what are these for? You didn't have to..." Your voice trails off as you take the flowers, your hand brushing against mine. There go the tingles again. I'm pretty sure you're half electric, because no one else makes me feel like this when they touch me.

"I just wanted to give you something to say thank you for going out with me. I know you didn't want to at first, but you've been so brave anyways and I just...you deserve to be given flowers. You deserve everything, Santana."

I feel so ridiculous, telling this to the red little blossoms in your hands, rather than straight to you, but I'm still really anxious. I think my stomach turned one too many somersaults, because it feels all tight and tangly. I just want tonight to be perfect for you, that's all. I don't want you to regret it.

Your fingers touch my cheek and it makes me gasp a little, mostly because I wasn't expecting it. You guide my face up so that I have to meet your gaze.

My heart stops.

It just full on _stops _for a second. Only a second, but it feels like forever.

It's just, your eyes are _so _deep, and so full of...something. I don't even know. It's a little overwhelming, to be honest. My hand flies up to catch yours against my cheek. I need something to hold on to or I'm afraid I'll just float away. Which would suck, because I worked really hard on dinner.

Your thumb brushes the skin right under my eye, and I have to lean into it just a little. Your hand feels like the way my favorite pillow does when I wake up to turn off my alarm on Saturdays, just so I can sleep in a little more - how it's still all warm and soft and perfectly shaped for my face. I think your hand might be perfectly shaped for my face too.

Reluctantly, I pull your hand away and wrap mine around it. I could stand here with you forever, but I really want us to have this date, too. I pull you over to the bench and sit you down on one side of the basket, while I take the spot on the other side. Your eyebrows crinkle together when you see the basket, and I can't tell if it's because you're confused by it or annoyed by the fact that it's between us. I hope it's the second one.

"Okay, so I didn't know what kind of Snapple you like, so I got Kiwi Strawberry and Cranberry Raspberry, which is my favorite. I have it all the time though, so if you like it better than the Kiwi one, that's totally cool." I offer you both, and you take the Cranberry Raspberry one.

"Maybe we can share them both," you suggest. That's genius. I don't know why I didn't think of that. You're so smart.

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay," you whisper back. After a minute where we both get stuck just looking at each other, you clear your throat and ask in a louder voice, "So what else have you got for us tonight, Britt? I'm starving."

I pull out the sandwiches I've made for tonight, and the fruit salad. It's still cold from all the ice packs I shoved in around it. It's been so warm lately, I figured you wouldn't mind a cold dinner. There's homemade blondies in the basket too, but I want to save those for later, so I keep them and the two cartons of milk hidden for now. You offer your Snapple to me for a toast, and when we clink them I could swear you blush a little, but it's hard to tell because the sky has started to get darker already.

We eat our sandwiches quietly, for the most part, except you keep making little groaning noises every time you take a bite. I'll have to remember to make you more things with avocado in them, since you like it so much.

"Seriously, Britt. This is heavenly. Where did you get these sandwiches?" Your words are kind of muffled because your mouth is full, but I don't care. You look like the cutest little chipmunk with your cheeks all puffed out and full of sandwich. Honestly, Santana, I need to find new ways to say adorable, because you keep finding new ways to be the most precious person I've ever seen.

You nudge my arm with your elbow, and I flush a little. You always catch me staring, but it doesn't really bother me that much. You're too beautiful not to stare at, and I don't mind telling you so.

Oh, right. You asked me about the sandwiches.

I swallow the bite in my mouth before answering. I don't think I can pull off adorable chipmunk like you can.

"Uhm, well the bread I actually buy from Breadstix - it's the same stuff they use for the meatball subs. Rick wasn't gonna let me, because I wanted fresh loaves, but Holly, my boss said it was fine. The veggies I got from that little farmers market they have down on Waverly every Sunday. The avocadoes too," I add. You shouldn't have to depend on me for something you like (even if I'd sorta like it if you did, a little.) "The turkey and cheese I just had at-"

"Hold up, you made these? Oh my God, Brittany. You are a culinary genius. These are so absurdly delicious. It's like an orgasm in my mouth!"

I'm in the middle of taking a gulp of Snapple when you say that, so my gasp turns into a spittake, followed by me choking. I can feel my face and neck getting really red, but I can't tell if it's because of the choking or because I'm blushing so bad. You can't say things like that. Not and expect me not to think about it. (A flash of you on my bed, my hands pressing your hips into the mattress while I-)

I drop into another spastic coughing fit, and my cheeks turn even darker red. I can feel your hand rubbing warm circles into my back, but I don't think it's helping. Even if it does feel really good.

After what feels like forever, I finally get a hold of myself. Your hand is still on my back - not moving, just resting there - so light I almost can't feel it at all, except for the heat. You lift it away from my back almost as soon as I stop coughing, and it's silly, but I miss it already.

I take a chance and glance up at you out of the corner of my eye, and immediately get red again. If your grin means what I think it does, you know _exactly _what that was all about. You don't play fair, Santana. Not even a little bit.

I love it.

"I'm okay, sorry. I'm okay." I pat my chest a couple times, even though I wasn't really choking on anything but my own embarrassment. You hand me your Snapple instead of mine (I didn't even notice you pulling it from my hand and nestling it in the basket, I was coughing so hard) and it makes me smile a little, that you're sharing, even though it was you who suggested we do it in the first place. I take a little sip, just enough to calm my throat. Even if you are sharing, and it is my favorite, I don't wanna drink all of your drink. I have like, six more of the CranRas ones at home anyways.

I can still feel the warm hand print between my shoulder blades where you rested it.

I'm secretly grateful when we manage to finish both the rest of our sandwiches and the fruit salad without anymore bouts of me being a total doofus. Although you managed to be a bit of a goof yourself, the way you kept trying to steal whatever piece of fruit my fork was aiming for with your own. Even though I pouted and whined a bit, it was nice to see you being silly. You're so serious most of the time. Silly and smiling suits you better.

The sun has just started setting, lighting up the sky in a rainbow of yellow and orange. I pack the bowl and forks back in the basket, and our knuckles brush when you add the Snapple bottles in next to them.

So many tingles, Santana. Do you feel them too?

At first, you don't really move at all when I tuck the basket back under the bench behind my feet. I want so much to just scooch over and pull you close to me, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable by moving too fast. It's kind of funny, because before this, I never had a reason to worry about too fast or too slow. Things just sort of happened, and I was okay to let them. But with you, I have to plan. I have to think it out. I have to be careful, because you're so careful. I don't know why you're like that, but I hope soon I can convince you that you don't have to be careful around me. Around me you can just be Santana.

"So, what's next?"

Your voice is soft and curious, and your eyes are too. I nudge myself a couple inches closer to you on the bench, and it makes you smile for some reason. A good sign.

"I just thought it might be nice to watch the sunset," I say, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I start to doubt my plan. "I mean, we don't have to though. Like, if you're cold or if you'd rather go somewhere else or something, that's fine too. I don't-"

Your left hand lands on my thigh and cuts off my babbling midstream. My eyes fall to my lap, and I move my own left hand to cover yours.

"That sounds perfect, Brittany. Absolutely perfect." Your hand squeezes in time with your words, and my heart flutters in time with your hand.

I don't even try to fight the smile splitting my face now, and I decide to take a chance. Still holding your hand in place on my leg, I close the distance between us and loop my right arm around your shoulders.

You get really stiff at first and it makes my stomach fall. I knew I shouldn't have done that. Dumb move, Brittany. I blink fiercely to get rid of the stinging in my eyes. I'm just about to pull it back when I feel the whole left side of your body press into mine. I breathe in really fast, not sure at first of what's happening, but when your head drops down to rest on my shoulder, everything in my body just relaxes. I run my hand up and down your arm a couple times and then squeeze you even closer. You're so warm against my side, and you fit so perfectly. I'm so busy cheering on the inside that I almost miss your little whisper.

"Absolutely perfect."


	3. Chapter 3

_Flash forward and we're taking on the world together,_

_And there's a drawer of my things at your place._

_You learn my secrets and you figure out why I'm guarded,_

_You say we'll never make my parents' mistakes._

_But we got bills to pay,_

_We got nothing figured out,_

_When it was hard to take,_

_Yes, yes, this is what I thought about._

* * *

"Hey, Santana, I still can't find tho- uh oh."

The 'uh oh' is out of my mouth before I can stop it, but it sums up the situation pretty well, even so. I can't see your face, since your back is to me, but I can see the tight line of your shoulders, and the way your right hand is clutching the lip of my dresser drawer so tight your pretty brown skin has turned a little white around the knuckles. I'm guessing you were looking for my favorite socks too when you found out my secret. Surprise. Nervously, I take a couple steps closer. I've been meaning to explain that drawer to you, I swear.

"Um, so...about that. I was gonna tell you, I just didn't know how to do it without making you mad or scared or making me sound like a total creeper..." I joke. You don't chuckle like I hoped you would. You don't even move. Crap, I must have screwed up even more than I thought.

"Santana? I...I'm sorry I didn't...I shoulda told you or something...Or asked you, I guess...You don't have to-"

"These are my things."

Your quiet interruption startles me. Your voice is low, but steady. I can't tell if you're mad or not, except that you still haven't moved or relaxed or looked at me. Please don't be mad, Santana.

"Um, yeah."

"My clothes."

Not sure why you're repeating yourself, I just nod again until I realize you can't see me. Duh, Brittany. I don't know where you're going with this, but it's making me feel guiltier by the second. "Yeah, they are. Look, Santana, I didn't-"

You whirl around so quickly it scares me. I stumble back a couple steps and start to lose my balance, when suddenly your hands are on my shoulders, steadying me. I grab onto your waist for support, but I can't really meet your eyes yet. I'm afraid to.

"Brittany."

"Yeah."

Your fingers tighten around my shoulders.

"Brittany, have you been...did you clear out a drawer in your dresser so you could put my stuff in it, without telling me?"

I nod again and try not to sniffle. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, but I don't want them to fall. Not when you're so close.

"Why?"

The question isn't sharp or angry like I expected it would be, but I keep my eyes down, glued to my cold toes.

"I thought," I break off my words to clear my throat. It sounds like I'm talking underwater or through an old radio, all weak and wobbly. Everything in my chest feels tight and wrong. "I thought, you know, because you stay here sometimes..." A lot, actually. You've been at my place almost as much as yours this week. I'm pretty sure last week, too. Your fingers squeeze shortly, I think to get me to keep explaining. I clear my throat again. Still tight. A tear escapes my eyelashes and I let go of your waist for a second to brush it away, but you catch my hand with one of yours before I can.

I look up finally to see your face. You're not mad, or upset, or even afraid like I thought you might get. In fact, you're not really anything, except watching me. It's a little weird, but I guess it could be worse. At least you're letting me explain.

"Anyways, I just um, I just thought it might be a good idea for you to have some stuff here for like, in case of emergencies or whatever. 'Cause, you know, sometimes you forget your bag or you don't bring it but end up staying anyways, and then you have to borrow my clothes. Which is fine! I swear, it's totally cool," I'm quick to reassure you. The last thing I want is for you to think it's not okay for you to wear my clothes. Because if I'm honest, seeing you in my clothes, especially my jammies, it's kind of the best.

"So," you say slowly, "you started stealing my stuff and squirreling it away in your dresser instead?"

I can feel my mouth drop open, but I'm in too much shock to actually do anything about it.

"I did not _steal!_" My words come out in a hiss, which only happens when I get mad, which makes it that much more confusing when you start giggling. Okay, I know I should have asked your permission first, but now you're _laughing at me?_ Rude.

I knock your hand off my shoulder and free the other one, taking a couple more steps back as I cross my arms over my chest. I'm trying not to pout, but seriously, Santana, you're laughing really hard now and I don't even know what about this all is funny.

"Oh God, Britt, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened there, I just...your _face_- You just looked so _offended_. It's not funny, I'm sorry. It's not funny." It takes you a couple more minutes before you finally stop chuckling, and then you meet my eyes, and suddenly everything is serious again.

"Britt...Are you...? Do you...?" You huff loudly, I think annoyed that you can't say whatever seems to be on your mind. "Is this your way of asking me to move in with you?" Your eyes are big and round and I can spy your fingers twisting tightly around each other at the edges of my sight. That usually only happens right before you start to freak out over something. Like, for instance, the idea of moving in with me, apparently. I panic, thinking that maybe you're going to assume I'm trying to push you into something too soon.

"NO!"

You flinch a little at my yell, and immediately I feel bad. I don't want you to think I don't want you to, because that's not how I feel at all. I take a few steps until I'm right in front of you. Your hands feel limp and tiny when I take them in mine, like they might break if I hold them too tightly.

"What I mean is, no that wasn't what I was trying to do at all. I just wanted you to know that it was okay for you to leave some stuff here for when you sleep over, because I _like_ when you sleep over. Heck, I _love_ when you sleep over. I dunno, I thought maybe it'd be easier this way because then you wouldn't have to leave right away in the morning if you didn't remember to bring clothes with you the night before. I even made some space in the closet in case you wanna hang stuff up or whatever."

You nod, but you don't say anything else, and it's making me nervous again. I think now I should lay it all out for you, because it's clear I'm not doing this right. I tug you over to my bed so we can sit on the edge of it. When you try to pull your hands away, I hang on to 'em. I can feel you start to close up again, and I know it's because I accidentally yelled at you and now you think I don't want to live with you. Which is so not true. Not even a little bit. You're just scared, that's all.

"I honestly didn't mean anything more by it, San, but if you want to know the truth..." I wait for you to look up from your lap to me before I continue. Deep breath - now or never, Pierce. "If you want to know the truth, I've wanted you to move in, or me to move in with you, or whatever, since practically our first date, but I know you like to take things slow, so I was trying to be sneaky about it. Like, maybe if you got used to having a drawer here, you'd get used to staying the night with me more, and if you got used to staying the night with me more and decided you liked it, then maybe you'd start thinking about doing it all the time. But I never wanted to push you into it. You're so...everything has to be just so for you, and that's okay. I just...I was trying to be just so for you too."

You stare at me silently for what feels like forever, before your face starts to change. Your eyelashes flutter a little, your cheeks get a little rounder, until finally, _finally_ your lips begin to curve up into a smile.

I love all of your smiles, Santana, honestly. But this one? I know this one is special. It's your just-realized-something-that-makes-you-so-happy-yo u-just-can't-hold-it-in smile, and it's perfect.

It seeps into your expression so slowly, the way batter spreads across a waffle iron until it covers every bump and fills every crack. Your face is the same way, when you smile this smile. It gets softer and softer and brighter and brighter, sinking into your full, pouty lips, your dimpled cheeks, your gorgeous dark eyes, your crinkly little nose, and even your perfectly round ears (they get _pink_, Santana. _Pink._) Until finally, every bit of you is filled with your smile.

It's kinda breathtaking, actually.

"Ask me."

Um, what? "Huh?"

"Ask me if I'll move in with you." Your smile gets even bigger, and suddenly it feels like my heart is going to explode right out of my chest.

"Ask you..." You nod furiously, expression never changing. Oh my God. "Uh, Santana?"

"Yes, Brittany?"

Your smile turns into a smirk and my tummy starts turning and flipping like it's in the Olympics.

"Would you like to move in with me?"

At first you don't move, I and I start to wonder if maybe this is all just a dream and now is the part where I wake up and realize none of it was real. Before I can get too sad at the thought though, you lean in, pulling at my hands so that I lean in too, and you kiss me. It's not a very hot kiss, as our kisses go, but it's so soft and gentle and sweet that I swear my heart almost breaks from being so full. It's the best kiss, really.

When you pull away, your smile is still in place, although now your eyes are closed. I can't help myself, so I lean even further to kiss the tip of your nose. Your eyelids slide back open slowly, like they're revealing some secret treasure hidden from the world. With the way your eyes sparkle and melt all at the same time, maybe they are.

We get stuck just watching each other for a few minutes until I remember with a start that you never actually answered my question. I mean, I'm pretty sure I know what your answer is, especially if that kiss was anything to go by, but still.

"Soooo...Is that a no, or..." I joke. Mostly I'm joking, anyhow.

You laugh a little and your nose crinkles, then you kiss me again, soundly. Your lips leave mine with a loud smacking sound that always makes me wanna giggle 'cause it sounds like a cartoon kiss. "No, Brittany, that was not a 'no'. I would like very much to move in with you, if you would have me."

I can't help myself. I shriek and launch myself at you, tackling you backwards onto the bed. We make out a little, but it keeps getting interrupted by my laughing. I feel kinda bad about it, but I'm just so happy I could burst.

Finally, you shove me onto my back and lay yourself on top of me. You probably don't know it, but this is my absolute favorite way to be with you - even if it's not for sexytimes and we're just lying here with our clothes on. It's like I have my very own little Santana blanket. You're all warm and soft and even though you're tiny and adorable, you fit my body just perfect.

Your hands come up to fold under your chin across my chest, and I loop my fingers behind my head so I can stare at you, staring at me. As I watch, something in your face kind of flickers, like when a plane flies directly in front of the sun. The shine is still there, but it's blocked for a minute.

"What is it?"

You look at me in that way that makes my heart pound, like you're looking at the most important thing you've ever seen.

"Santana?"

You smile again, but this time it's faded a bit. "Sorry, just thinking."

A thought occurs to me that makes that tight feeling come back to my chest. "If you think you're not ready, we don't...I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to move in, you know? I'm okay with keeping things the way they are, if you want." I'm not really, now that we've actually talked about it, but I'm more not okay with making you feel like you're trapped or being forced.

"No, Britt-Britt, I want to move in with you. I really do, I just...I feel bad." I start to protest, but you trap the words in my mouth with a quick kiss before settling back on my chest. "Hush, you. I just feel bad because here you are, being perfect and doing all these ridiculously thoughtful and sweet things to make me feel comfortable and safe, and I don't even have the common decency to tell you why I am...the way I am, I guess."

"Sweetie, you don't have to-"

You cut me off with another kiss, this time letting just the tip of your tongue graze over my lips. It gives me shivers all up and down my body and makes me forget what I was going to say completely. You don't fight fair, Santana.

You grin at me when you drop your head back down on your knuckles - my face must look pretty dopey after that.

"I have to say, if that's gonna happen every time I talk when you don't want me to, I don't think I'm ever gonna stop trying." I wink at you and feel my cheeks start to ache with how big my smile is after you giggle.

"You are positively devious, Brittany S. Pierce. Some kind of brilliant evil mastermind."

I don't know why, but every time you say something like that, my whole face goes red. I think it's because no one has ever accused me of being brilliant before you came along. It's...I'm not really sure what it is, but I think I really kind of like it.

"Now be good and hush, this is important." Your smile drops, but I can still see a tiny little glimmer of something in your eyes. Even so, I try to pull myself together. If this is something important to you, then it's something important to me too.

"So, my parents got together when they were really young. Younger than us, even." I frown a little bit now, not really sure of where this is going or even where it's coming from. "They moved in together straight out of high school, got married six months later, and then year after that, they had me." I smile a little at that, but it fades when I see the sadness in your expression.

"They...as far as I know, everything was fine between them when I was a little kid. It wasn't until around the time I turned ten that the arguing started. My dad started coming home way too late, there were fights about money _all the time_...I didn't know until a lot later that it was because he'd developed a gambling addiction. He kept yelling about how he felt tied down, how they were already old even though they were barely 30. But anytime she tried to sit down and have an actual conversation with him about it, he'd just get up and walk out. Sometimes we wouldn't see him again for like, three days. He apparently had like, three girlfriends on the side, and he'd just go to one of them. Almost as much of our money went to them as it did casinos and backroom poker games. They got divorced a week before my eleventh birthday. My dad didn't...he didn't even fight for me. He just...left."

Your face is so still as you tell me all this, but I know it's just so you don't start crying. Your eyes always get tight around the edges when you're trying not to. It breaks my heart every time, I can't help it. I guess since you're not crying, my body decided to do it for you, because I can feel the sting in my eyes, and the way my eyelashes feel heavy with tears. You're not really looking at me anymore, so I don't think you've noticed yet, which is probably a good thing. I want to wipe my eyes, but then you start talking again and I know I need to just be still and let you finish.

"I remember, in high school, my mom_ hated_ anyone I brought home. She was always so suspicious - she would tell me constantly not to get into anything serious until I was way older, until I was ready. She didn't want me to end up like her, I guess. Or God, maybe she was afraid of me ending up like _him._ I do have his temper, so I guess that makes sense.. At first, I didn't really care because it was more for appearances than anything else. I knew I was gay, but..I don't know, I guess I thought maybe I could fuck my way to straight or something. But then, I met this girl. I fell totally head over heels for her, and it seemed like she wanted me back, so I just went with it. I didn't tell my mom or introduce them, because I didn't want this girl getting the same treatment all my 'boyfriends' had.

We fought a lot about everything else too, because she was always stressed, and I was angry and bitter about everything under the sun - especially my dad. Finally, one night, we got into this _huge_ fight and I told her I was going to run away with my girlfriend if she didn't back off and...basically she kicked me out. I could never figure out if it was the gay thing, or the following in her footsteps thing, or maybe both, but either way, she gave me two days to get all my shit together and find somewhere else to live.

When I told my girlfriend, she freaked and told me that it was never that serious, that we were just having fun, and then she dumped my ass for one of the varsity boy's basketball players. I ended up having to stay with one of the school counselors until I graduated. Fortunately, I had a full ride to NYU, so I busted outta town the second I got my diploma. How's that for a sob story, huh?"

I don't mean for it to happen, honestly. It's just that sometimes when I cry, I get the hiccups. Your eyes focus on me immediately, getting huge when they spot the wetness all over my cheeks.

"Britt! I-"

Before you can say anything else, I grab your shoulders and haul you up so we're face to face and I can kiss you properly. It doesn't feel like enough, though, so I roll us over too. Half of me is afraid that I'm gonna crush your little bitty body, but the other half of me just needs you as close as possible. When your arm finally come around to brace against my back, pulling me down even harder into you, I give up worrying altogether and just concentrate on kissing you as hard and as much as I can until my lips fall off.

Eventually, our kisses slow down, become softer, become slower, until this sort of lazy feeling spreads over my whole body. I can still feel the tears drying on my face, and the sadness inside is starting to dry up too. After one last long kiss, I pull back, separating our lips with a loud smack that makes me giggle a little.

You stare up at me with a dazed look in your eyes, like you're not quite sure what's happening, but you're happy to go with it.

"Damn, Britt-Britt, that was...wow. Remind me to tell you more about myself from now on, especially if that's how you're gonna respond." You grin up at me, and I can see it's a real smile, with real happiness, so I can't help but laugh again.

I don't really know what to say to that, but it turns out it doesn't really matter, because you do.

"Listen Britt, in all seriousness, I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad for me or as some kind of excuse or whatever. I just, I want you know where I'm coming from, that's all. You're always so careful to make sure that I'm comfortable and that I don't feel pressured, when you don't really even know why I'm so uptight in the first place. So I thought it was only fair that I tell you. I-I love you, Brittany, I really do. You take such good care of me and you never push, even when it's something I can tell you really want, and that means so much to me. Sometimes I feel like I don't have anything to give you in return…"

"Santana! That's ridiculous! You give me _everything!_"

You roll your eyes, and I can tell you don't believe me. I'll just have to convince you.

"Santana, this isn't...that's not how relationships work. If all that stuff you just told me is really the case, then the fact that you're willing to move in with me, even though we've only been together for a year, that's _everything._ I know you're afraid, but you wanna do it anyways. Do you know how special that makes me feel? I thought it was gonna be months before I could even bring up the idea of us living together, but here you are, telling me you want to already. I just...that's everything to me, Santana. Just everything."

I can't help but gasp a little when I see tears starting to leak out of the corners of your eyes as you stare up at me, but you're giving me that special smile again, the one that makes me feel like flying, so all I can really do is kiss the tears away and smile back at you.

"Well," you whisper as you lean up. Your lips are barely touching mine, brushing the words into my skin, making goosebumps pop up all across the back of my neck, "That's good then, because you're everything to me too, roomie."


End file.
